The SCP Experience - Rampaging Pit Beasts | SCP-4049

Episode Date: July 29, 2022

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-4049: Rampaging Pit Beasts This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4049, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com New Book Releases: https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-G-Doggett/e/B08FD5378Z DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

We'd been hiking for most of the morning when we spotted the beast. The two game wardens I was with, James Kennedy and Travis Gray, saw it first. They crouched among the spruce trees just ahead of me. I could tell by their body language that they'd seen something. So I moved up slowly and looked over their shoulders, down the length of a shallow gully. See it? James Kennedy whispered. Travis Gray was looking through his binoculars. I shook my head.

Kennedy pointed, and I crouched behind him so I could see where he was pointing. After a moment, I saw the black fur amid an array of pine trees. It was a good 150 yards away, and since the trees blocked most of it from view, I couldn't see how big it was. Two days earlier, my editor sent me out to cover a story about a black bear stumbling upon a local beekeeping business. The bear must have been hungry because the couple that owned the business

estimated it did about $30,000 worth of damage to the hives. When I reached out to the Wyoming Game and Fish Department, they told me that the bear was tagged and had been wreaking havoc in the next county over. Even though it was well outside of the short Wyoming black bear hunting season, Game and Fish decided they were going to kill the bear. And, after a little convincing, they agreed to let me tag along for the story. For a reporter in rural Wyoming, this was about as exciting as things got.

It's on the move, Gray said. I followed as the two men tracked around, moving quietly to stay with the bear until they were in a position to take the shot. Both game wardens had rifles. Kennedy carried the tried and true Remington 700, while Gray preferred. the Winchester 70. Both fine, bolt action rifles. We tracked the bear for 10 minutes before we finally got a clear look at it. I knew it was a male because of its size. It looked like it weighed nearly 400 pounds. I could easily see it tearing through the beehives, gorging itself on the delicious honey and the protein-packed bee larvae, pupae, and eggs. Sunlight trickled on the

bear's coat as it stopped at a fallen tree to inspect it. This was the chance. The shot was there. They just had to take it. On the way up, they'd agreed to let Gray take the shot. Apparently, Kennedy had traveled to Alaska the previous year to hunt Grizzlies. Gray had never killed a bear. It was his shot. The game warden knelt and closed his eyes. I figured he was going to say a quick prayer before he took the shot. I turned back to join Kennedy, who was keeping an eye on the bear. I knew my readers would like the fact that Gray took a moment to pray before killing the bear. That was definitely going into the story. There was a sudden, whoosh sound, and I felt an uncomfortable warmth sweep up my back.

This caught Kennedy's attention, too, and we both turned around at the same time. Gray was gone, leaving only a smoldering game warden uniform, a Winchester 7th,000, rifle and a pile of ash. I looked at Kennedy, thinking this was some kind of elaborate joke. His face told a different story. There was bewilderment there and the burgeoning of fear. He rushed forward and grabbed at the pile of clothes on the ground, as if Gray could be hiding in them. He quickly dropped them, though, because they were hot to the touch. What the hell happened? He said. I just shook my head, then pointed. What's that?

About two feet away, partially obscured by a tree, there was an arrow sticking out of the ground. Kennedy stepped over to it and yanked it up. It had a stone arrowhead at the tip, and it looked like it would be right at home in the days before Wyoming had ever seen a white man. Did we just witness spontaneous combustion? I said, not quite able to feel the full weight of the situation.

It seemed so surreal. Kennedy just shook his head. Needless to say, we didn't get the bear that day. Investigators were called out, but they were as puzzled as we were. I was told in no uncertain terms not to print the story, and my editor agreed. We would sit on it until the investigation was finished. But I didn't think it ever would be. The police were stumped.

They couldn't make heads or tails of it. Weeks past, the mystery became my obsession. I researched spontaneous combustion and ancient indigenous American religious practices. I found it strange that he turned to ash right when he was praying, and the mysterious appearance of the era of further complicated things. It certainly hadn't been there when we'd come upon the spot. Kennedy and I agreed on that, but it remained a mystery. Nothing made sense.

People didn't just turn to ash. Then, one day in July, about a month after Gray died, I heard a strange call on the police scanner. The groundskeeper of a swank house had found the place trashed, like a tornado had hit it, but there hadn't even been a dark cloud in the sky. The place was a five-minute drive from my house, where I worked most of the time. I made it there before the police and had a quick look around. I knew I'd be kicked out when the officers arrived.

Sure enough, the house had been trashed. The ground floor, which had previously enjoyed large picture windows and a sturdy oak door, had been utterly destroyed. The windows were shattered, and the door was in pieces. Even the immaculate flower garden in front of the house had been trampled. I could see inside the home, where all the furniture had been ripped to shreds. A chandelier had been pulled from the ceiling. and there were giant holes in every wall I could see.

According to the groundskeeper's call, no one had been at home when it happened. Lucky them. As I heard squad cars pull up on the street, I took a few quick pictures. Phelps, what the hell are you doing here? One of the patrol officers said, shutting his car door.

His name was Dolan. Like most of the police in our small town, I knew him fairly well. I was just passing by and saw the wreckage. I told him, smiling thinly. Sure. Just get out of here before I arrest you for trespassing. What do you think did this?

I asked, stepping onto the sidewalk. He looked at me like I was an idiot. I should be asking you. I just got here, he said. I mean, have you had any other calls like this lately? I asked. No comment. I wasn't surprised.

So I waved goodbye to him and a couple of the other patrol officers as I knew. I got back into my car and left. I had no idea then that Gray's inexplicable death and what happened to the house were linked. But they were. Yeah, Dom? My editor said over the phone. What the hell is this story about the bears attacking the house? I asked him. Burrell, my editor, sighed. What do you mean? It's the official version. It's what the police think happened. I scoffed. Three or four bears attacking a house for no reason?

You're kidding, right? Besides, it's only been an hour since the call came in. And already there's a story up? Explanation? Burrell said. I'd love to hear it. Write it up and send it to me. It sure as hell wasn't bears, I said, and paused.

Something's rotten in Denmark. Well, follow the stench, Hamlet. He said. I don't play favorites. You want to prove them wrong? Find the story. I got to go. He hung up.

I stued for a long minute. I grabbed my keys and left my house, thinking there was no better time than now. Five minutes later, I was back at the house. There was a single cruiser sitting by the place and police tape wanting people to stay out. I pulled up next to the cruiser and rolled down my window. I couldn't believe my luck.

It was one of my drinking buddies. Chris Shelton, sitting alone in the cruiser. Bears, Chris? I said smiling. Really? Hey, Dom. He said defensively, putting his hands up. The supposed wildlife experts said it was bears. Who am I to tell them different? I've only been hunting since I was five.

Wildlife experts? I asked. Who? Was gaming fish down here? Chris hesitated. I can't talk about it. Really? He said. Come on. We both know something shady is happening here, I said. Something did that to the house, or some things.

And it sure as hell wasn't bears. And whatever did it, still out there, Chris. It could do some serious damage. Chris shook his head. No, they've got it under control. My eyes went wide. Who? Where?

What is it? I asked in a frenzy. Chris looked guilty, like he'd slipped up. He clamped his lips and shook his head. Come on, Chris, I said. You know me. I'll find out sooner or later. There are no secrets in this town.

And if I'm in on it from the beginning, there won't be a need to talk about possible cover-ups. I let that hang in the air. As Chris's face changed, I knew I had him. The old arms factory, he said, finally. But you didn't hear it for me. Thanks, buddy, I said, pulling away. I owe you a sixer.

A case! He shouted back. The old abandoned arms factory was on the edge of town, and it took me a little over ten minutes to get to the turnoff. As I made the turn onto the quarter-mile-long road, I saw several police vehicles littering the road, smoking, smashed, and overturned. Among the vehicles, I could see the bodies of several police officers.

Adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream as I took in the sea. The road was lined with trees and bushes, making it hard for me to see if whatever caused the chaos was still around. I slammed on the brakes and stopped the car some 50 yards short of the nearest smashed vehicle. I looked into my passenger seat, realizing that I'd forgotten to turn on the portable police scanner I had. Gunfire sounded from nearby, along with the screeching of a siren from behind me. Slamming the car in reverse, I twisted around to guide myself back to the main road. I hadn't made it more than a few feet when another police cruiser came around the corner.

I recognized Chris in the driver's seat. He must have gotten the call shortly after I left him. As his speeding car came abreast of mine, something huge landed on the foot of my car, smashing it down and lifting the back wheels off the ground. I whipped around in panic to see a massive, hairless beast smashing into Chris's cruiser. It moved on four muscular legs.

The back legs were as wide as tree trunks, and the front legs were like long, thick arms. All four appendages ended in claws. Its skin was similar in color to a Caucasian's humans, but it looked almost leathery in texture. Its spine protruded from its hulking back, thick, and double-segmented. Chris's cruiser flipped as the creature hit it with its shoulder. The car smashed into a tree at the side of the road and came to rest upside down. The siren still screaming.

The beast, which stood well over six feet tall on all fours, turned to look at me. I was expecting a demonic, ugly face. But what I saw was much, much worse. It was the Game Warden's face, grey, the man who had gone up in flames. Only it was kind of stretched and distorted to fit on the enormous, hairless head. Its eyes narrowed, and it charged at me. I slid down in the seat as much as I could, knowing there was nothing I could do. But before it could get to me, the mechanical chug-ch-ch-chug-sound of a large-caliber machine gun

reverberated through the car. The beast screamed out, a shrill, penetrating sound that was many times louder than the approaching gunfire. As the gunfire stopped and the growl of an engine grew near, I sat up in my seat. A large tactical vehicle drove slowly by. A man sticking out of the top of it was busy reloading the M2 Browning Machine Gun. The Beast had limped down the road, but it was still very much alive. I watched as the machine gunner started firing. started firing again, putting the beast down for good with the 50 caliber bullets.

More military-style vehicles pulled onto the road. I jumped out of my car and dodged between them, running to Chris's cruiser. I saw him struggling out of the driver's side window, his head bleeding from a minor cut. You all right? Never seen a bear like that before, he said, half joking. I helped him out of the car, and we moved up to the road to look at the dead beast, while men and women in tactical gear swirled around us. Soon enough, they put us both in a truck and took us down to the old arms factory.

At first, I thought it was strange how they seemed so willing to share the unbelievable information about how the beast came to be. They showed us a strange room with walls of white marble and a dirt floor. There were several white marble headstones around the circular space, and in the middle of the space was a ragged circle of disturbed dirt where, according to these mysterious people, the beast had come from. Chris and I watched as they set up a perimeter and arranged an array of weapons in the corridor outside this odd room.

We listened as they told us about their mission, a mission to secure, contain, and protect. And we listened as they explained why they had to make us forget. They were sorry, they said. But we couldn't walk around knowing all we knew, seeing all we'd seen. So we hardly fought at all when they brought the needles out, filled with something that would make us forget. Amnestics, they called it. And forget we did.

The next day, I found myself writing a story about a rabid bear attack that had killed several local policemen out near the old arms factory. I gave a first-hand account of the attack, in which four rabid bears mauled several officers. I remembered it in vivid detail. After all, I lived through it. I'd seen it with my own eyes. In fact, I was lucky to get out alive. Lazzang sur-gillet, puissance-molyne, for 15 minutes. We're like to their dojo.

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Devoysmereeighet to pay for the conditions apply. S.C. 4049 is the designation for an extra-dimensional space. The entrance to which

is located behind a steel door in the basement of a former arms factory in Wyoming, USA. It appears as a circular room with a floor consisting of soil, with the walls and a ceiling constructed of a smooth white marble. All attempts to acquire a sample of these materials have resulted in failure. Due to the sample spontaneously combusting when passing through the dimensional threshold,

the room contains a series of three concentric circles of graves, 13 of which have small white marble tombstones, with the circular empty area at the center. SCP 4049-A is a phenomenon that occurs only in male individuals that reside in the states of Wyoming, Idaho, or Montana, and have a notable interest in hunting for sport. While in some form of religious worship, the individual will spontaneously combust and vanish, leaving behind all clothes and objects previously on their person, as well as a stone-tipped arrow driven into the ground near their previous location.

At the end of an SCP 4049-A event, a new tombstone instantaneously appears over a previously unmarked grave within SCP 4049. SCP 4049-1 is the collective designation for any entity originating from inside SCP 4049 during an SCP 4049-B event. These instances vary to some degree in their dimensions and weight, but all have the following traits in common, quadrupedal posture, extreme hostility toward human and animal life, abnormally thick skin, muscled legs used to jump forward at high velocity, screeching vocalizations, a face identical to the most recent victim of SCP 4049-A, internal anatomy noticeably resembling a humans, but with several differences such as a reinforced spine, two hearts, no reproductive, system whatsoever, an additional row of teeth and an enlarged mouth to house them.

One of these instances has a 98% chance of appearing within 60 days of a male human combusting. This is known as an SCP 4049-B event. It involves the instance clawing its way out of the dirt circle in the center of SCP 4049 and attempting to breach the steel door. Its intention and destination are unknown.